


Don't Hug Me, I'm An Avenger

by MrCourtesy



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Cotton Doesn't Die, F/M, Gen, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, You Have Been Warned, felt!Avengers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 10:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4218519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrCourtesy/pseuds/MrCourtesy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A homage to Don't Hug Me I'm Scared that features the characters from The Avengers. It will not feature DHMIS characters, because I want to have at least a little license to explore new concepts too.</p><p>The Avengers have lessons to learn about the world!</p><p>1st Lesson:  Health</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Hug Me, I'm An Avenger

**HEALTH**

****  
  


Dragging his soft felt feet across the floor, Tony drops down into his chair at his desk, pain wracking his body. After a fifteen hour fight with Doombots, he’s exhausted. He needs rest, he needs relaxation, a mental break, and all that namaste shit, but really he should have signed off on these requisition forms for the Dubai branch four days ago, and yeesh does R&D need to look at these designs again (that is definitely not what he meant when he said ‘a more modern design’). There are fifty new emails since last he checked--and trust when he says that he checked not five minutes ago (see, look, it’s a quarter ‘til nine, and he checked his inbox somewhere around the eight-forty mark).

Sighing, he gets to it, working on a new engine that runs off carbon but leaves no waste afterward at the same time to keep his mind moving through the drudgery. Eventually, he works through half of the pileup, but more missives and audit sheets keep pouring in as if he’s Thomas the Tank, and now that they know that he’s running, they’ll keep shoveling more coal in. Tony hisses and grimaces as one of his stitches comes loose, and frowns at some stuffing that refuses to stay in place, white fluff coming away between his red, articulated fingertips. A headache also sharpens its tools on the inside of his head, so he pushes back the chair and carefully stands up, heading to the kitchen.

When his mortal fluff makes it through the short elevator ride there, he slides unhurriedly down the wall and collapses on the counter face-first. Reaching blindly for what he knows is already there, but can’t seem to touch. Soft fabric touches more fuzzy material, and when he looks up, his hand is neatly covering Bruce’s.

“Well, hello to you too, Tony.” The green tweed man says, his soft brown eyes and tangled ribbons acting like an electro-shock of cheer to Tony’s terrible day. Without missing a beat, Tony grabs the soft green mitt and pulls it up to press a kiss to it.

“I am honored, and grateful that you invited me to your home on the wedding day of your daughter.”

Chuckling, Bruce lets Tony keep holding his hand. “I’m no Don Corleone, but I’ll freely say your enemies are my enemies.”

“The Godfather? It’s gotta be The Godfather!” A voice chimes, from near the stove, and Tony suppresses a shudder. “Ugh, what are you doing here, Blue’s Clues? I thought we were off the clock.” It’s Steve, the naive, holier-than-thou asshole, plaid, bright, and blinding sky blue right after a battle. Already Tony can feel the bile building against his throat.

Precluding the inevitable argument, Bruce speaks up first. “Taking a break, and since I can’t bake worth a lick, Steve here was showing me how to make his mom’s favorite recipe for sugar cookies. Want one? They’re really good.”

“No, no,” Tony waves a cookie away, “I’ll be fine. I’m sweet enough on my own.” Without looking away from Bruce, he grabs two small yellow bottles with white caps. He opens them and pours out a motley of colored tablets into his waiting palm, swallowing them down dry. Frowning over the top of his glasses, Bruce hands him his own glass of milk, not letting Tony brush it away. “Do you even know what you just took?”

“Yeah,” he drawls, “Just the regular dose.” By the stove, Steve looks disapproving, but sagely keeps his mouth shut, looking staunchly domestic with a pair of oven gloves that contrast his blue face. “Don’t judge, Cap; one day you’ll be here too.”

Taking another batch of cookies out of the heat, Steve sighs, and mutters under his breath, “I’ve already been there.”

“Got something to share with the class Cap-ricious?” All play drops from Tony’s face, and after a quick swig, he hands Bruce back his glass, wiping away a milk stain with the back of his hand.

“I just… I don’t see the benefit of taking something you get by without.”

The sound of an oboe playing a scale bursts from nowhere, and from the vicinity of the counter a small, high voice chimes, “I do!”

Instantly, all the men snap to attention.

“What was that?” Bruce murmurs suspiciously, eyes questing around the room.

From the counter, a third pill bottle rolls all by itself into the middle of the granite surface on its side, then stands itself straight. Two googly eyes look brightly around the room and two small arms sprout from its sides. A small pink mouth opens widely, grinning at the three of them. Its two tiny hands begin to snap rhythmically. Bright electronica chords fill the air in time in melodic symphony.

Tony looks at the two bottles next to him and checks the labels. “I’m not the only one seeing this, am I?”

Eyes wide, and shocked to stillness, both Steve and Bruce shake their heads.

“ _There’s always a little good in a good little pill,_

_It makes the pain stop and makes the throb still!_

_A prescription from a doctor can save a life,_

_And be better still than going under a knife!_ ”

Sliding down the counter and past the top of a chair, it lands in Tony’s slightly greyed (and thinning) hair. Paralyzed with shock, he simply looks up into his hairline, eyes crossing.

“ _For millions of people it makes water pure,_

_and for millions more it's got the cure! Sure!_

_Faith in your doctor will help you to see_

_the benefits of pills for you medically!_ ”

Ever-adaptable, Steve’s face turns from shock, to a slight frown. “I still don’t quite get it, I still disagree; there’s nothing a pill can do for me.”

“ _Follow me friend, come get out of your seat!_

 _I’ll show you methods that cannot be beat!_ ”

Without warning, the three find themselves a lilac-colored factory with lavender people smiling and bobbing along as they go through their day, the bottle still sitting neatly atop Tony’s head. The whole processing plant sways to the tinny electronic sound from before.

“How the fu--” Tony looks around wildly, and stumbles into Bruce’s shoulder as the other Avengers take in their surroundings with a suspicious air.

The little plastic container hops down and onto a purple worker’s hat. Unsure, the three trail after as the woman seems perfectly oblivious, guiding a cart down a long assembly line of industrious manufacturers.

“ _Just look around you, and everywhere will be_

_the brilliance of smiles and the happy family. Family!_

_Birth rates are up and the love is so great_

_Just look at the smile of each grinning mate! Mate!_

_No one is lazy or feels unfulfilled_

_From the lawyer, to the teacher, to the farmer at the mill! Mill!_

_Colorful streets lined with red, blue, and green_

_We from AstroFenica will show you what we mean._ ”

Chuckling dryly, Tony plays along, “Isn’t it kind of sappy to have this sort of regime? I mean; sure it’s good for a company to want this sort of scheme--”

Both Steve and Bruce give him a cracker-dry look.

“--But people have needs that drugs can’t supply, and there are many things a pill can’t provide.”

Suddenly a group of men in chemical masks and mauve scrubs surge forward, snapping in time to the melody, and adding an assortment of oohs and aahs.

“ _While it’s true that every remedy_

_cannot be made with chemistry (Chemistry!),_

_when you think of progress numerically_

_you’ll find the answers with verity (Verity!)._

_Of studies done, a majority_

_will support our superiority._

_And with all in our profession_

_we offer the utmost discretion!_

_Our loyalty has been sealed with an oath!_ ”

A group of purple men in periwinkle coats lift the small bottle into the air and sing in chorus, “Oath, oath, oath!”

“ _So if you think you can be better, then you can_

_come on and select your primary care plan!_

_We promise to help what’s ailed you all alo~ng!_ ”

Three technicolor paths in blue, red, and green open up before them, and they all stop, looking at each other for confirmation.

“Yeah…”, Steve says with an about face, “That’s gonna be a no.” Bruce nods and turns around as well, grabbing Tony by the bicep when it looks like his curiosity might get the better of him when he hesitates. They start walking back through the orchid throng, and make some good headway, when that prefabricated voice erupts from Bruce’s right shoulder, making them all twitch in surprise.

“ _The benefits of medicine are unignorable,_

_for solving all the things that are deplorable._

_Of course you want to see the alleviation_

_for all the bad things that happen in the nation!_ ”

“Medicating people to chemical bliss is not the solution to a problem,” Bruce sighs, “it’s only a temporary means of assisting people with actual issues.”

“Point.” Tony states, shaking his head. “While I’m all for righting the wrongs in our society, an Orwellian society isn’t the way to go.”

“People,” Bruce grumbles, looking pointedly at Tony, “Can’t really be trusted to say when they do and do not need medication, and cannot reliably dose or police themselves--let alone a corporation or a government.”

“But the problem isn’t the treatment itself,” Steve says, sliding his oven mitts off and tucking them underneath his arm, “It’s the fact that we’re trying to use band-aids to patch deep wrongs within our societ--”

Suddenly a legion of shrieking voices issue from where the bottle was before.

**“TOO MANY VOICES!!”**

A swirling darkness bubbles up like ink all around the trio--

\--then snaps away, as if never there. The three find themselves on their color-coordinated paths as before.

“Oookaaaay…” Bruce breathes in deeply, trying to calm himself.

“This… Can’t be real.” Steve murmurs, but straightens when Tony pinches him.

“Shit.” Tony whispers lowly, then pinches himself, blinking at the pain. “Shit.” He curses again, rubbing his hand across the raised felt.

As if unaware of their crisis, the bottle rides along on the swell of cheering attendants.

“ _Visit our site, talk to your doctor,_

_or call our number at Bristol-Meyor._

_We’re here for you, and we will see you through._

_Can’t you feel your burden getting lighter?_ ”

Suddenly, the three of them start floating down the paths, floating as if borne up by invisible hands. They fight and struggle against the air to no avail.

“ _Put your trust in us at Fizer,        Put your trust in us at Fizer,       Put your trust in us at Fizer,_

_You’ll be happy…                       You’ll be happy…                   You’ll be happy…_

__

_And none the wiser.                     And none the wiser.                And none the wiser._ ”

 


End file.
